


Twisted

by fwai (wenwen)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (if you squint), Crack, F/M, Gen, POV Second Person, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28213845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wenwen/pseuds/fwai
Summary: You’re locked in competition, you and him, and neither of you will give way.  You know what you are capable of, and you will not lose to Draco Malfoy.
Relationships: (IMPLIED), Draco Malfoy/Reader
Kudos: 13
Collections: SHIP WARS Secret Santa 2020





	Twisted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ScarlettCipher66](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettCipher66/gifts).



You’re locked in competition, you and him, and neither of you will give way. 

The room is hushed, bathed in a familiar green glow. Your housemates are clustered at the edges of the room, half-hidden in the shadows as they perch on lounges and chairs. Their hooded gazes prickle. You can feel their eagerness, their hunger, but you do your best to ignore them. Your attention is on the person standing across from you.

You remember when you saw him for the first time. That was a long time ago, when you were both still children. Now he’s sharp angles and sharper eyes and a smile that could cut glass. 

He’s watching you the same way you’re watching him: with confidence, with calculation, with ambition. There’s an annoyingly familiar smirk at the corner of his mouth that’s you’re itching to wipe off his face.

You know him, and you know yourself. You know what you are capable of, and you will not lose to Draco Malfoy. 

At the signal, you step forward deliberately. Draco matches you, not bothering to look down. You both stop in place, waiting, tense beneath your falsified composure. Your blood is racing, your heart thrumming, your fingers almost trembling with anticipation. 

A second step forward -- you cross your left leg in front of your right foot, and Draco does the same on the other side. Another beat, another pause. This is just the beginning. 

Your movements start to diverge. You plant your hand down almost directly in front of you, leaning over to balance easily. Draco opts to reach further away, shifting most of his weight to the leg tucked under him. You sweep your leg to the side; he steps forward. You brace one arm behind you. He outstretches his hand as if to accept a letter. You take another step forward, crossing your foot in front of your body. He slides his forward with minute calculation. 

The two of you are closer than ever, now. Your foot is inches away from his foot, and this close, the challenge is bright in his eyes. But you’re not breathing hard yet. 

There’s a beat of silence. You’re watching him, watching the floor between the two of you, watching the space separating your bodies. 

You close that space. 

You reach past him, and your arm brushes his thigh. He narrows his eyes, crosses his arm over yours so yours is trapped in the gap between his leg and his arm. He tilts his head at you, challenging.

You smile at him, sweetly, because now you’ve got him where you want him. 

With a quick movement, you slide your leg between his. Draco’s eyes widen. A murmur goes up among the watching crowd, and it ripples in restrained excitement. You smile at him, slow and sweet and poisonous, and tilt your head so that your hair doesn’t fall in your face. 

He retreats a step, trying to untangle himself from you. His ears are flushed, the skin around his eyes tight. You press your offense, slip a hand past his leg as he reaches behind him. Every time he moves back, you chase him, weaving your limbs between his like a slow, convoluted dance.

Abruptly, you realize that you have run out of space. The look in his eyes shifts, and he turns the tables in a flash. He reaches over you, behind you, plants a hand on the ground and leans in close so your faces are only inches apart. Deliberately, he settles his bulk against you. If there were any Gryffindors here, they would cry foul, but you are Slytherins. Both of you know the value of utilizing every strategy at your disposal. 

He’s heavy, and you grit your teeth as he leans on you. Your arm trembles, but you refuse to let it give way. You lock your joints, the elbow and the shoulder, swing your leg around to disturb his center of gravity. It works; he tips away. 

Even with the small respite, you’re cornered. He’s blocked all the closest avenues of escape, but even now, you won’t let him win. It’s time to reveal your hidden ace.

A hushed gasp goes up among the watching crowd as you kick straight up in the air. There’s a dizzying moment where you can’t tell the ceiling from the floor, and then you land perfectly on the ball of your foot. Your hair dangles in your face and there’s a smirk on your face as you shoot a glance at Draco from upside down. Your back aches already and so do your wrists, but now, you have the advantage.

Draco doesn’t have a lot of space to maneuver. His choices are limited, and he grits his teeth as he makes his move, a cautious slide backwards to claim the little space you’ve left him. You can tell by the calculation in his eye that he’s waiting you out, that even though you’ve made it this far, it’s not a position you can hold for long. You’re too stretched out, too exposed.

He’s underestimating you. 

You flip around in a quick move, stealing away the space beyond his foot, and now it’s your fingers straining to keep you in place against your own weight. Your elbow almost buckles from under you and you wobble precariously, but you catch yourself before you can hit the ground and slowly, carefully, lever yourself back up. 

Your move leaves Draco crowded on the edge, twisted up on himself with no easy way to escape. There’s sweat beading up on the edges of his forehead and your smirk widens. He glares balefully at you when your eyes lock. You wink.

There’s a silent snarl on his face as he makes a desperate lunge. It’s to no avail. Like a great oak felled by a woodsman, he topples.

“Blasted muggle game!” Draco snaps, sitting up and brushing off his robes.

Victorious, you rise to the cheers of your housemates as you claim your crown as the Seventh-Year Slytherin Twister Champion. 

**Author's Note:**

> Neither crack nor romance are my strengths, but I hope you enjoy!


End file.
